


Inaumorada

by GyouNibergue



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman: The Killing Joke (Comics), DCU (Comics), Gotham (TV), Nolan - Fandom
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Bondage, Breathplay, Character Study, Clothing Kink, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Dubious Morality, Falling In Love, Identity Porn, M/M, Mind Games, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Dynamics, Psychological Trauma, Requited Unrequited Love, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Therapy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, lots and lots of denial, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-03-28 15:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13906722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GyouNibergue/pseuds/GyouNibergue
Summary: Joker plants the seed that grows. Gordon starts to doubt everything he’d ever known in his life.





	1. .relapse.

**Author's Note:**

> title’s taken from London After Midnight
> 
> As I always say - my writing is a trash, so feel free to edit anything at all.

He hissed.

Stiffling the groan, he reached for the napkin, exasperated, and squeezed the trickle of blood from the fresh cut on his finger before wiping it off clean the next minute, wincing.

It was the third time this week those relapses happened when his mind would just slip away and he would sink into some twisted sort of limbo. Everything had been going extremely well and for awhile he was content with the progress he was making but now it was nagging at him, making him wary.  
No one knew he’d been going to the therapy for quite a while now, and partly because revealing to everyone that he’s having some psychological issues was just something his pride would not let happen. Although that would be discovered sooner or later, he understood that. All the squints he’d get pointed in his direction, rumors it would bring up and memories, oh boy, all the memories. ..  
He’d loathe the pity in their eyes. And honestly he was terrified at the possibility of losing his job. Of course he’d been the excellent head of the Police Department for a long time, he earned a hell of a reputation by now, but if the excellence was something that this city truly needed Harvey Dent wouldn’t had lost his mind transforming into the opposite of himself. 

He sucked on his thumb thoughtfully, wiping the oozing redness once more with his tongue, the metallic tang of his own blood brings him back to reality -- to the kitchen table, the radio singing in mellow tones on the background.

Picking the knife from the table, he resumed cutting the vegetables.


	2. .your best nightmare.

His hands trembled, violently trying to reach for the gun, when the madman stepped on it, giggling convulsively. Gordon cried out biting his tongue against the pain searing through his palm.

«Looking for your glasses, commissioner?»

Clown grabbed his chin and yanked his head forward to face him. The smell of dust, decay and blood, and old paint attacked his senses at once, making him cough desperately, catching his breath.

Babs was lying abandoned on the dirty floor, head down, left alone for a time being to sob and whimper, making herself as small as possible. Gordon couldn’t catch the expression on her face and this helplessness and unability to make sure his daughter was still sane and alive scared him more than he ever could’ve seen. Madness written on her face would’ve frighten him less, at least it’s less painful than lingering in between, the darkness revolving around him in lazy circles, ready to devour him any moment.  
The scumbag licked at his lips nervously, darting his eyes to where Gordon has been looking moments ago and Babs suddenly shifted mouthing another keen sound that tore at Gordon’s resolve – his shoulders tense and jaw slack with fear and desperation. It wasn’t happening. All of it, it couldn’t have happened.

Batman was there. His memory still didn’t come back to him, but that bit he remembered so clearly it was impossible to think that was just a dream. He have lost consciousness more than once in this time and he could as well have imagined it, but somehow his instincts that were his only hope and only defense, his only solitude in something that he was certain he wouldn’t survive, told him otherwise.  
What was more important is Batman was there. And then he wasn’t. He tried to help, he remembered. Almost succeeded it’d seem but something went terribly wrong.  
The point is he couldn’t waste his hate on clown anymore, the only living thought in his damaged consciousness is for Babs to get out of here alive. He was so tired of fighting and now he was only begging for his daughter’s life, that’s all. And God knows he tried to fight and now when Batman was actually gone the exhaustion and desperation were taking their stall on Gordon, nagging him to start to cooperate. 

It would’ve helped were it Maroni’s people, it would be easier with Two-Face, it had been, although he threatened to shoot his family in front of him, and for a long time he thought that was the worst thing he had ever experienced.

Everybody wants something. And what Joker wants is entertainment and death.  
But for the clown, Gordon came to know, the one never goes without the other.  
He hated Batman right now, partly because he couldn’t have bring himself think he might have been killed, and partly because he realized just how much he needed him right now, desperate for any glimpse of hope, for simple reassurance.

«Trick or treat?»

Gordon feels the rustling and then the heat against his ear. He makes a miserable sound – something between a keen moan and a sob, and tries to gain some distance, shifting away. He succeeds but just for a few seconds before the hand digs in his hair, pulling at it menacingly, threatening to tear it with a scalp.

His throat is painfully stretched when Joker repeats, barking low growl just millimeters away from his face, his eyes glowing inhumanly.

«Trick… or treat?»

«Treat! Please… I pick a treat»

He surges forward, as far as the grasp on his hair let him move at all.  
He’s babbling now, pathetic and breathless and Joker practically beams at that, swinging dangerously from the sheer aggression to uncontrolled mirth.

He picks the paint off his cheek with his fingers and smears the white all over Gordon’s face.


	3. .nostalgie.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the following chapters will hopefully be getting longer and longer, I'm just getting started :D  
> so if anyone wants to edit my shit (because god knows I need it) or even co-work that'd be exhilirating. though I don't raise my hopes high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> London After Midnight – Pure  
> (as always, that's the band that started the whole thing. It's ideal)

Gordon woke with a startled cry, shaking and drenched in sweat.

The sleeping pills prescribed for him a few months ago usually have helped with the nightmares and so very present headache, soothing his bursts of irritation caused by the stupidest mundane things, keeping his demons at bay but since Barbara had left he stopped taking them on purpose.

Instead he got a real fondness for bourbon. At first it was harmless, nothing unusual if not totally accepted --being a policeman in Gotham. But somehow it got worse than normal pretty fast and practically in no time he was struggling to recall the time when he wasn’t hangover.  
No, he wouldn’t stop drinking for more than one reason. 

It would help even when sleeping pills didn’t work, when insomnia would come with vengeance and along with it terrors far worse than nightmares. At least nightmares weren’t real. And whenever he refused to sleep terrified he’d relive that night again, he would reconsider almost immediately, remembering what happens to him at night. And his hand would clutch at the bottle with sleeping pills on his nightstand.

In truth, sometimes he craved to rewind and experience of all that all over again. So many details erased from his memory, got lost in his subconscious mind, so much anger still trapped inside without a possibility of letting it all out. He could never brag about his patience and lots of people throughout the years have called him short-tempered because of it but no one really understood how self-controlled he actually was, calling it a natural toughness what in reality was a deep defense mechanism, shielding his vulnerability.

Divorce was probably one of the hardest thing Gordon had ever had to go through. After his and Barbara’s abduction by the manic clown everything in their lives has gone to shit. Babs barely made through this nightmare alive and as for Gordon… He was lucky to stay sane but something deep inside him went crazy all the same, wrong beyond repair, and he would probably never get over it completely. 

That night was sealed in his memory and his mind, shaking him in his sleep, tormenting with images of his daughter’s terrified twisted features and her endless shrieks.

He’d been married to Gotham for as long as he can remember and though he loved Barbara once with all his heart she could never have fill the gap. It was probably even predictable for his family to fall apart like this after all that had happened. Gordon thought so until the moment he found out she was cheating on him for years and he stayed oblivious the whole time, considering himself a lucky man with loving wife and a daughter who still did give a shit about his father.  
When had it all crumbled before his eyes? It had been going on for years and he hadn’t noticed a thing. So much for being detective.

The only thing left, really, was his work. Or probably not the work itself but the sense of belonging and knowing he could still fight back.  
Just like Batman did.  
Even now after the day’s ‘hard’ work filled with bureaucracy and mostly sitting on his ass while others do the field work (if there is any), he could get up on the rooftop and watch over the city wordlessly, as if Gotham was a woman he loved, asleep and unreachable. He muses about the Batman doing the same somewhere else, the cold air ghosting about his shadowy face in the same biting way. Their beloved Gotham does not belong to them anymore.

He remembered the times he used to freeze on the rooftop half unconscious after the day’s work, with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand, his glasses low on his nose – waiting for something, anything.  
It was his second nature to see what others could not, to sense the vigilante lurking in the shadows at night – Gotham still and unmoving.  
«Gotham never sleeps» he would let the cryptic words slip from his lips, a touch of a sly smirk on them, glancing briefly at the wide-eyed newbie ready to wet his pants at the mere possibility of seeing Batman for the first time. And Gordon would sip his coffee and cringe at the bitterness in his mouth while going on with some mundane shit just to ease the silence.

Gordon sipped his coffee and frowned at the sign. Now he was the one lurking in shadows.

«Tastes bad, huh?»

Gordon shuddered gripping a hot cup a bit tighter than necessary and burning his tongue in the process.

«Is that.. that really you?»

«I wouldn’t be so surprised. Or have you fixed the sign just to enjoy the view?»

Gordon tensed, stealing quick glance at the sign, proudly facing the night sky, disbelief clearly written in his features. 

«Just felt nostalgic, I suppose»

He took a step back cautiously, narrowing his eyes and peering into the dark trying to make out more than he could see.

«I was hoping you’d come.» - simple affirmation with something akin to annoyance laced underneath.

«And why is that?»

«I needed to see you.»

The silence followed by the words is almost deafening.

«I haven’t had a chance to explain myself I guess. I believe you got the wrong picture of what happened. And.. for some reason I doubt you’d like to hear me out.» 

«And what would that reason be, I wonder.» - suddenly Gordon’s lips sour and his voice strained.  
«You’d be surprised but it’s not actually how it works.»

«Then how does it work?  
I was trying to reach you countless of times. I could as well become a professional stalker.»

Gordon made another deliberate sip, eyes hard set, never leaving the landscape.

«You could at least look at me bitching about it.»

Gordon fights back a grin despite himself. It’s so irritating that after everything Batman could still so easily crack him open and all he’s required to do is anything that could remotely be called human.

The dark figure moves forward, his steps heavy and somehow awkward, his kevlar outfit with all the equipment probably get in a way a lot – Gordon feels sudden rush of sympathy despite himself.

«Please look at me.» - the gentleness of the words contradicts with his rough, gravelly voice.  
Gordon grits his teeth, laughing at himself, but before he can say anything…

«I have a proposition for you.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somehow I feel obligated to note that I prefer Nolan's universe over Gotham's, so you might as well keep in mind that I see Oldman and Ledger as actors, not Ben M.  
> Alright, that's settled.

**Author's Note:**

> It was originally intended as an epic saga but honestly, I had to post it just to feel things going somewhere.


End file.
